


Five Times

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Homeland
Genre: Alternate universe where Carrie Mathison isn't a bitch, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: The first time Carrie and Quinn make love together, it's fast and impatient and erotic.The next time they're drunk.The third time- and the best time, in both their opinions- is at work.The fourth time, Carrie cries.The fifth time is a new beginning.





	Five Times

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of (bad) feelings about this show after the end of season six, which obviously results in writing. As problematic and upsetting as this show was, is, and can be, the dynamic between these two was always so fresh and interesting. In this fic, I characterized Carrie to be less selfish and not put her job above everything else in her life, and also for her and Quinn to start out as friends, progress to friends who sleep with each other, gradually start a lowkey relationship which each other, and then become public with it. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I originally started writing this, but somehow it came to be a smutty, emotional, happy ending that I know all of the Carrie x Quinn shippers need.

The first time Carrie and Quinn make love together, it's fast and impatient and erotic. They strip each other like they've been waiting a thousand years and when she goes down on him he breathes so hard he sees stars. He pushes himself into her fast and full, as if there is a clock ticking, a bomb beside their bed counting down the seconds before they're obliterated; these are their last moments. And in a way, it feels like it. They've been dodging bullets, literally and metaphorically, for so long, come so close to losing each other so many times, that Carrie doesn't care if her nails scratch Quinn’s back so hard it leaves marks, neither does he; he doesn't care if he slides into her so hard she's sore the next day, neither does she. They need this, need each other, have needed it for so long that even once they're satisfied, the ache is still hard and strong. It's not enough, it’s been too long, and they both wonder how it's taken them this long to realize this was a necessary thing. Now that he has been inside her, he can't remember how he survived so long without it. Carrie is soft and warm and hard and cold in all the ways that she is, and when he kisses her collarbone he bites. She smiles. 

  
  
  


The next time they're drunk. Carrie is happy, loud and giggly and close to everyone at the bar, invading personal space, especially Quinn’s. He slings an arm around her waist, and not usually one for personal displays of affection, brushes her shirt off her clavicle and kisses her shoulder, sloppily and obviously. Carrie downs another shot and then glances at him before dropping her hand to his thigh, dragging it towards his zipper. Just as her hand reaches his dick he bolts upright, throws $40 on the counter and practically drags her out of the bar. Quinn pushes her against the brick wall as soon as they're outside, his hands go up her shirt and he knows this can't happen here, but he wants her too bad, doesn't know how he can go without her. She moans loudly as his hands envelop her ass; they hear a holler of debauchery from someone across the street but it barely registers. 

    “Car?” Carrie breathes, not a demand but not quite a question either.

    “Not here,” he murmurs, his mouth on her chest. “Not a...good neighbourhood.” 

Quinn tugs down her shirt, presses a kiss to her ready and then pulls away. She whines and he smirks, fixing her disheveled hair, her red lipstick notably smudged.

    “Home,” he commands, and takes her hand to lead her to the car. 

The car ride feels like the longest eight minutes of Carrie’s life. Quinn is impatient too, of course, but he enjoys the anticipation, and he also enjoys running his hand up and down Carrie’s thigh, watching her squirm in the passenger seat out of the corner of his eye. By the time he pulls onto their home street Carrie is swearing, flushing and has attempted multiple times to unbutton his pants, to no avail. 

    “Patience is a virtue,” he says, grinning as he opens the apartment door.

    “Fuck that,” she growls and jumps on him as soon as the door opens, her mouth hot and hungry on his. They don't make it far, they're undressed by the time they reach the kitchen, and soon enough she's splayed out on the dining room table while he's rummaging through the drawers looking for condoms, forgetting in a drunken haze that he keeps them all in the bathroom.

    “If you don't….hurry up, I'm just going to fuck myself right here,” Carrie yells, her hand already traveling towards her abdomen. 

In a second Quinn is there, bending his head between her thighs and dragging his tongue up her slit. She lets out a loud moan in response. “You wouldn't dare,” he says, smirking as she gapes at him, jaw open and eyes desperate.

    “Fuck,” she breathes, dropping her head back as he takes another lap at her sensitive folds. 

“I'm way better anyways,” he quips, licking his lips. 

Carrie groans. “Quinn, I love you, but shut the fuck up and fuck me  _ now  _ or so help me God.”

They're both too drunk to recognize what she just said and to honor the sensitivity and validity in it. Instead, he eats her out until her body shudders, and then with no warning he pounds into her, the sounds of their bodies clashing together echoing off the walls. She forgets about everything else but feels him inside of her and she screams, his name falling off her lips over and over and over. Sweat pools on his brow and his eyes are dark, his neck has red-tinted hickies and she thinks she could die right then purely from the sight before her. He’s so beautiful. 

Quinn fucks her hard, even when she comes he doesn't stop, he finishes for himself, bends to kiss her, and slips back inside for another round once they've had a moment to breathe. There's no recovery, no counting how many times she screams, no sense of finality about any of this. He's not sure when he decides it's enough, but when he thinks it's over she surprises him and sucks him off, looking up at him with those devil eyes and a wet grin and a small whine when he comes. He swears there’s never been a prettier sight.

  
  
  


The third time- and the best time, in both their opinions- is at work. They’re in a conference room and Saul and Fara and everyone else is finally leaving, and thank  _ fuck  _ they are because Carrie had been going batshit insane and she was starting to think everyone was catching on. Quinn had sat diagonal from her, biting on the end of a pen and occasionally shooting her looks, but his face was unreadable to anyone but her, and she knew he was doing it intentionally so no one else would sense there was anything between them. The arch of his eyebrows meant something only she could understand, something private and confidential. Their relationship was a secret to everyone else they worked with, not really for any reason besides it seemed to be more fun that way, and besides, people were always into Carrie’s business too much anyways. Her relationships were  _ her  _ relationships and she had grown tired of explaining herself to people, whether it be about work or her personal life. Even Quinn doesn’t understand her all the time, but he cares about her enough to stick around and see her through, and that's what she needs.

Carrie and Quinn had been the last in the room, saying their goodbyes to their coworkers as they pretended to pack up their folders. As soon as the door shut though, Carrie locked it and started drawing up the blinds.

    “What are you doing?” Quinn asks, although he has an idea.

    “You know,” is all she says in return, her voice a sharp breath, desperate already without any touches. Quinn would be lying if he said knowing how much she wanted him-  _ needed  _ him- all this time didn't make his cock harden even more. Of course, he knew what had been going on during the meeting. The lack of attention Carrie had been giving him was intentional, driving him wild and desperate before she gave him the time of day. He knew her games, knew her technique, and they both knew he enjoyed it just as much as she did.

As soon as the last blind is drawn she's slipping out of her underwear, keeping her heels on and stalking across the room. Quinn thinks he could come right then and there just from the sight of her- the look she gives him, knowing she's wet and ready for him under her black dress that hugs her curves in all the places he loves to kiss- stained panties on the workplace floor, no longer covering her sex that throbs for him and only him. She grasps his collar, pushing against him and backing him only the wall. She doesn't waste any time before shoving her tongue into his mouth and unbuttoning his shirt, and he's rough with her the way he knows she likes it- strong hands grasping the backs of her thighs, lifting up her dress and exposing her ass to anyone who might peek through the blinds. The fact that someone could potentially find them makes it ten times hotter than it already would be, even though they'd both be mortified if they were caught.

When she sucks his dick it's fast and messy and she enjoys it just as much as he does. She's barely hidden by the conference table but she doesn't care, relishes the sound of his moans and the feeling of his skin beneath her teeth. 

He comes in her mouth and she swallows. When he fucks her on the table, she climaxes fast and he eases her through the aftershocks with his tongue. She comes again from his lips alone. 

  
  
  


The fourth time, Carrie cries. Halfway through, because it’s too intense and it’s too much and for the first time it really hits her that she needs this man, she  _ loves  _ him, and she’s had quite a lot of epiphanies in her lifetime but not quite like this. Quinn is worried, trying to pull out but Carrie wraps her arms around his neck, legs around his middle, tighter, keeping him close. 

    “It’s okay,” she says, voice a whisper in the dark. “I’m okay. Just...keep going.”

Quinn is hesitant but he keeps his pace steady. Lips on her ear, neck, jaw, she thinks this is the closest they’ve ever been. When she kisses him, forceful and with a low whine, she hopes she’s telling him all the words she can’t bring herself to say.

Tomorrow, he leaves for Syria. He didn’t want to, but the recruitment was lower than ever and he really didn’t have a choice. It breaks his heart, just as much as it hurts hers, but he can’t worry about it. Can’t think about the possibilities, the inevitable, the fact that the survival rate is low, and even Saul knew that- and told him when he assigned him.

Carrie wonders if he wouldn’t have been assigned if they had been public about their relationship. Would Saul sympathize? Would he care? Would he laugh in both of their faces, especially Quinn’s, for choosing to deal with someone as maniacal and delusional as Carrie Mathison? 

She thinks- she knows- anything he could have said or even done to try and break them apart wouldn’t be nearly as bad as him blindly sending Quinn off to war, selling his soul for the greater good instead. Not caring about one of his greatest agents, not minding if he was just another casualty. 

When they come, together this time, Quinn just watches her. Lets her reel back from the lack of contact when he pulls out- but stays close beside her-, lets her cry against his chest, lets her kiss him over and over again, her salty tears now on his cheeks. 

    “I’m sorry,” Carrie finally says when the sobs have subsided. “I’m...I’m just really going to miss you.”

  
  
  


The fifth time is new beginning.

Carrie had been crying again not long before. That’d been something she’d done a lot of in the past nine months without Quinn, but this time, the tears weren’t because of his absence.

They were because he was home. 

When Saul called her in the morning, four AM and still dark out, she was terrified. She thought this it, it’s the call she’s been dreading, he’s gone. But instead, Saul said, “we’re taking them out. They’ll be arriving at the airport at ten, I need you there to supervise.” Carrie’s voice quaked when she answered, and Saul didn’t ask why.

When she saw him in the airport, all stubble and long hair and a little bruised, but walking the same as always- she could recognize him just by his gait, she thinks, but maybe that’s just because she’s in love with him- she felt like she could breathe again.

When he saw her, he smiled, the biggest, most genuine smile she’d ever seen on him. They collided, his bags clattering to the ground, and he kissed her so hard she backpedaled. When they pulled away, Saul looked confused, but not surprised.  

The whole car ride home Carrie held Quinn’s hand. Saul had let them leave early, only stopping at Langley to return his weapons. There, he told Saul he wouldn’t do any more missions like this, ever again. His voice was hard and firm and  _ no games, this is what’s happening. _

When they finally get home and Carrie has wiped away her tears, they waste no time with the pleasantries- after all, what is she going to say? How was Syria? How many people did you have to kill? How many times were you almost killed? Neither of them want to think about it, don’t want to look back when the present moment is something they’ve waited for, almost the entire last year rendered a waiting game. They strip and it’s like no other time before, it’s like time has slowed down to let them relax, let them come back down to earth. Every kiss, every sigh, every brush of skin on skin is relished, taken slow and gentle. 

Carrie says the words to Quinn when he has her pressed against the bedroom wall. She’s the first one to actually say it, and it feels weird, feels like a first- well, because it is- but also feels like the millionth time. Probably because they’ve both known for a long time- even before they started sleeping together, when they were only friends- but it was just never the right time. But now most definitely is.

Quinn kisses her in response, taking his time before pulling away and grinning against her lips. 

    “I love you,” he says back, and there’s no hesitation, not even a second’s worth of doubt behind his words.

He lays her down and makes love to her. His movements are slow, gentle but deep. When he nips at her collarbone she runs her fingers through his hair, beard scraping against her chest He focuses more on her face, the expressions of ecstasy and lust and  _ happiness _ , something he doesn’t get to see often. 

    “I love you,” Quinn says again, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.

The next morning, they decide they’re both out, for good. It takes hours of yelling and crying and worries that one of them has fucked it up, really fucked it up- until they make the choice. They’re both sick of it- Quinn more than Carrie seeing as he’s the one thrown into the warzone constantly- and she can feel another epiphany coming on. They’re both tired of being endangered every day of their life, put through torture and restraints, sacrificing family and friends, hardened by the occupation they chose. It’d taken too long for them to realize they had a choice. They weren’t trapped, weren’t tied to a life of headaches and death and chaos, at least not forever. There were decisions they were allowed to make, in order to live a normal life, and it was about time they had a say on what direction their life went. And wherever they went, they wanted to go together.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at the same username, where I blog about shows that generally don't kill off their best character and completely disregard their fanbase (so, not Homeland).


End file.
